


Better Off As Lovers

by socialclimb (sunsh1neriptide)



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, it's kinda bittersweet idk, the summer of like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:24:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsh1neriptide/pseuds/socialclimb
Summary: All good things must come to an end, and "all good things" seemingly includes Pete and Mikey's disaster of a summer. Saying goodbye is always the hardest part of anything.





	Better Off As Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> this was like borne out of my 4 am binge-read of a ton of summer of like au fics and me subsequently realizing how much i miss warped tour so,,, i hope you enjoy?? the first third or so was written a few months ago, the final two thirds are more recent so yeah.

Nobody was allowed to smoke in the tour bus anymore after Gerard had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette and almost caught the thing on fire a week or so ago, so Mikey was standing in the parking lot, leaning against a lamppost and watching smoke from his lit cigarette curl into the hot summer air. It was the last time he'd have to do this.

The summer was almost over, which meant that the band would be driving back home the next morning and Mikey would be able to sleep in his own bed for the first time in over two months, and normally this was the best part of being on tour, but Mikey was dreading it this time around. He'd never been good at saying goodbye.

"I got your text," said a voice from Mikey's left, and the mentioned flicked ashes off of his cigarette before he turned his head.

"Hey," Mikey responded to the sweatshirt-clad figure now beside him, the hood pulled over his head so that pretty much only his mouth was visible; in fact, Mikey was almost positive that that was one of his hoodies. "You look stupid. Take off your hood."

"I literally just rolled out of my bunk, leave me alone," the figure complained, and he pushed back the hood to reveal his face. "I look even dumber now. I didn't get to straighten my hair."

"It looks better like this."

It had started as a sort of coping mechanism; they'd both been in horrible, shitty places at the beginning of the tour and they'd both needed a distraction; two negatives make a positive, after all, and despite how horribly gay the whole ordeal was it really did make living life at least somewhat bearable again.

Pete Wentz was just something special, and Mikey was there for it. Even if Pete could be a massive dumbass sometimes.

Mikey looked around the parking lot, making sure they were alone, before stomping out his cigarette and kissing Pete on the cheek. "Let's go hang out elsewhere."

Warped Tour at six in the morning was a quiet place, what with most of the bands participating and their crew still asleep in their trailers and the only people up and about were the ones setting up the stages.

"I'm gonna miss this," Pete said, looking around at the empty lot that would soon house the crowded festival. "This has been, like, the dictionary definition of  _ best summer ever _ ."

"There's always next year," Mikey replied, pulling the other behind one of the stages. "It's not like they're not going to do another run of Warped."

"I meant us, not the tour."

Hiding behind a stage where people were still working was risky, but Pete and Mikey had cut it much closer before; besides, it was the last day, who would give a shit?

Mikey pulled Pete into a killer embrace and they just sank to the ground, a mess of skinny jeans and skater shoes, and Pete was afraid that Mikey would crush his ribs when they were hugging this tightly but he'd rather suffer through the pain of that then never be caught in one of his boyfriend's death grips ever again.

Saying goodbye was the worst part of tour.

"We still have the whole day," Mikey mumbled under his breath, pulling away from the hug and cupping Pete's cheek in his palm, because away from prying eyes and ears being intimate wasn’t so bad. "It's not over yet. I don't have to leave you yet."

Pete nodded frantically, brushing Mikey's hair out of his eyes. "We can skip the after party, we can hide out in my bus, or yours, or whatever you want, and we can just be alone. Together."

If somebody had asked Mikey right then what he loved more, My Chem or Pete Wentz, he'd choose the latter in a heartbeat. Being in love was the shittiest thing on earth, especially when it couldn't last, and this entire tour had just been one big mistake that had grabbed Mikey by the ankles and pulled him under.

"I love you so much," Mikey said, and he kissed Pete like he was dying. He might as well have been. "I love you, Pete."

"I love you, too," Pete murmured against the other's lips, and Mikey Way was the only person on the planet that made him feel more at home than he did at his parents' house in Chicago. It just felt right.

They were going to get caught, they were definitely going to get caught kissing right there behind the Bishop stage, and the thought of a stagehand coming back there and finding them together made Mikey's stomach churn but all he did was hold Pete closer.

"I'm scared of what happens after today," Pete breathed, pulling away but still staying close enough that Mikey could feel his breath on his skin. "I don't want to walk down any roads without you. I'll quit Fall Out Boy if it's what it takes, I swear to god, I'll do it for you."

"You can't just  _ do _ that," Mikey responded quietly, gently running his thumb over Pete's jaw. "And even if you could, there's no way in hell that I'd let you. You have bandmates, and you have places to tour and albums to write, and you're so much better than dumping your career and all of your friends for some shitty kid from New Jersey."

"First of all, you're way more to me than just some 'shitty kid from New Jersey,'" Pete said, and Mikey couldn't help but smile at him. "And second of all, I'm not better than that. You know I'm not better than that. I’m a hopeless fucking romantic.”

It cut deeper than just being a hopeless romantic, though, and the both of them knew that. Pete never admitted it, but having Mikey around was one of the only things that kept him sane anymore, even on his worst days.

"I'm just saying that you make me feel the best I've ever felt in the longest goddamn time," Pete continued, noting Mikey's momentary hesitation, "and that I'm just so afraid of how quickly I'll tumble back downhill once I leave you."

"You make me feel good inside, too," Mikey said, and he knew he didn't make much sense but Pete always understood him. He was the only person who really understood, even more than Gerard and Ray and Frank and everyone else who he'd known since the beginning. Pete was the only person willing to put up with Mikey's shit, because Mikey put up with him, and almost nobody cared enough to do that. "Like, you make me smile  _ for real _ . You're the only person that can do that."

Pete leaned against the stage and Mikey curled up at his chest; it was a weird and slightly uncomfortable position, but Mikey could hear Pete's heart beating through the borrowed sweatshirt, which was one of his all-time favorite things, so it was worth it.

"I love you, Mikeyway," Pete said, playing with Mikey's hair, and Mikey kissed his neck in response. "I'm gonna write songs about you. I'll write a whole fucking album about you."

"And you're sure Patrick won't be too pissed off about that?"

"Yeah. He likes you, you know, more than you think he does." Pete hesitated for a moment, "he's glad that you make me happy or some shit."

"I'm glad that I make you happy."

"I'm glad that you make me happy."

You never really appreciate something until it's torn out of your grasp and the only thing you can do about it is cry like a baby until it stops hurting.

"We still have the whole day," Mikey said, not really directed towards anyone and meant more as an attempt to convince himself that it wasn't over  _ just yet _ . "I'm not losing you yet."

"You'll never really lose me."

The August sun was baking them alive, burning holes in their black clothes and making them sweat, and as much as the extra body heat was unhelpful neither of them were too keen on moving. They'd play their sets that way if they could.

"Are you sure?" Mikey asked, and Pete rubbed his back.

"Fucking positive."

Mikey withdrew from the somewhat-embrace and stood, offering his hand to Pete, who took it and rose to his feet as well.

"Let's go have a good day," Mikey said, and Pete grinned at him. "My ass hurts and I'm tired of sitting here."

"Agreed."

It was still early in the day. There was still time, and it sure as hell wouldn't go to waste.

\----

The after party was usually the best part, but Mikey wasn't able to enjoy it. He had a sick feeling in his gut that may have stemmed from the jell-o shots he'd stomached earlier, may have been out of the anxiousness of saying the final goodbyes the following morning, but either way it wasn't sitting well with him.

Mikey had no fucking clue where Pete was, but he wished he did, because he was an addict and he hadn't tasted his sweet drug until that morning. There was nowhere to be alone, nowhere hidden away from the prying eyes of photographers and fans and members of other bands that had no business knowing what was going on in Mikey and Pete's little world.

"Do you know where he is?" Mikey asked Frank once he couldn't take it anymore, because Frank was the closest person that Mikey actually knew well enough and he was too impatient to seek out Andy or Joe or Patrick or someone else that might've been more helpful.

Frank turned around and he looked Mikey over once before saying, "dude, you look sick. Not in a good way."

"Do you know where he is," Mikey repeated, wringing his fingers nervously because god, if he couldn't find Pete tonight then he'd never find him ever again. He couldn't just leave without a proper goodbye, he'd be thinking about it so much that it might just kill him.

"God, Mikeyway, do I look like I'm in fucking Fall Out Boy?" Frank said, and he tapped his fingers against the cup he was holding for a moment before adding, "I saw him leave maybe five minutes ago. He's probably outside."

Mikey decided he would thank Frank later, and then he speed-walked towards the exit, hoping and praying that Pete would be outside, waiting for him, waiting to bring him somewhere they could be alone together, waiting to kiss him and hold him close and tell him how in love he was, because there was never getting enough of that.

Pete was outside, waiting underneath a lit lamp post as the sun had long since set, and he looked distant and distracted all up until Mikey walked up to him.

"Hi," Pete said, and Mikey wanted to kiss him right then and there, pin him up against the lamppost and run his hands through his hair, god, Mikey had never wanted anything more than Pete.

"Hi," Mikey responded, and he extended a shaking hand out to Pete, who took it and held it to his chest, palm against his heart, which Mikey could hear thrumming even through Pete's ratty Gym Class Heroes t-shirt.

"I love you so much."

Those five words were Mikey's favorite melody, rolling off of Pete's tongue so naturally and mixing with the summer air.

"I love you, too."

The Fall Out Boy bus was completely empty once Pete pulled Mikey onboard, the door hissing when it opened and clicking loudly when it was slammed shut.

Maybe it was out of instinct or just for old times' sake, but they ended up in Pete's bunk, the curtains drawn just like always, even though nobody was around to watch. It was eerie, quieter than usual what without another band member tossing in his sleep in the bunk next door or somebody blasting music out in front, but the creak of his mattress was still the same and so was the rhythm of his heart.

The first kiss was hot and open mouthed and Pete grabbed the back of Mikey's shirt, pulling him as close as he was able to, and even then it wasn't close enough.

"Mikey," Pete said, his breathing heavy and desperate, and Mikey couldn't make out his expression in the dark but the tone of his voice was more than enough. "God, Mikey. It was always you."

Mikey wasn't sure what that meant, but it wasn't like either of them were in the mood to discuss it right then - there was no time for anything that didn't need to happen, anyways, and that night was just supposed to be for them.

Pete's fingers were cold, snaking up the back of Mikey's shirt and tracing his spine, sending electric jolts through Mikey's veins just the way it always had when they were crammed in that tiny ass bunk together.

Just the way it had always been when Pete hung out backstage during My Chem sets and smiled whenever he and Mikey made eye contact, or when they were curled up on the couch in Mikey's bus, wearing each other's sweaters even when it was July because Bob liked the A/C cranked way up, or when they were playing like children at a waterpark on one of their off days or sneaking into each other's rooms on hotel nights.

The bus was completely silent, save for the unholy creaking of the mattress when either of them moved just a little bit and the air conditioning whirring from the vent across the room.

"I love you," Mikey whispered, pressed against Pete's neck and gently biting at the spot behind his ear.

And who would've thought that a drunken hookup one night in June would've led up to something as equally phenomenal and terrible as this?

Pete pulled away for a moment, brushing Mikey's bangs out of his eyes, which looked like hazel full moons in the dim light, magnified by the lenses on his glasses.

"I know this is asking for a lot, but," Pete began, taking off the younger's glasses and setting them to the side, "please don't cry tonight."

"I should be asking for that from you instead," Mikey teased, pressing his forehead against Pete's. "Remember that one night you started crying because I wasn't there with you, and you made Andy come and get me at two in the morning, and everyone was pissed off and threatening to kick your ass?"

"I was way fucked up on my meds," Pete retorted, "and it just means I love you, dumbass."

Mikey held Pete by the hips, bringing him closer and kissing him quickly and messily.

"I hope the sun never rises on us," he said as he pulled back briefly to take a breath, and Pete nodded desperately.

"Me, too."

—

Mikey woke up the once the sun rose in an empty bunk with tousled bedsheets; when he went to rub his face he noticed marker scribbles on each of his forearms. He didn't know where the hell Pete kept conjuring Sharpies from, but it made Mikey smile just a little bit.

On his left arm:  _ bestfriends, exfriends, better off as lovers _

On his right arm:  _ I LOVE YOU _

Patrick was in the front of the bus, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a book in hand, and he waved at Mikey when he finally stumbled out.

"Where is he," Mikey said, the end of his not-so-question drooping due to both his splitting hangover that he should really take care of and his painful lack of sleep.

"He's saying bye to everybody," Patrick whispered. "I've got some painkillers if you need them."

"Why aren't you with him?" Mikey asked as Patrick tossed him a bottle of pills, "and what the hell happened to your voice?"

"A month and a half of touring is what happened," Patrick said, watching the other man choke down the medication dry somehow. "I went too hard yesterday. And I wanted to make sure you weren't alone when you woke up. I know shit's hard right now."

"Thanks."

Patrick nodded, folding over the corner of the page he was on and setting the closed book on the couch next to him. "Pete's going to miss you a lot."

Mikey shrugged, looking away. "He has you," he replied. He’d be lying if he said that it didn’t hurt.

"You know it's not the same."

When Mikey and Patrick stepped outside into the summer heat, almost every bus was still pulled up in the parking lot, gearing for departure, and clusters of people were still hanging around, saying their goodbyes before they all left and went back to their homes.

It felt kind of selfish to drag Pete out of his goodbye conversations with other people, selfish to think that everything was about them and their relationship, and normally Mikey would've awkwardly stood to the side and waited for the conversation to be done, but his stupid inner lovesick teenager possessed him and made him grab Pete by the shoulders, steering him away from the group he'd been with.

"Mikes," Pete said, holding onto the other's arm to catch his breath after running behind a corner, away from everybody. "Hey. What are you doing?"

“I woke up and you were gone,” Mikey replied, “like always, and you wrote your dumb shit on my arm, like always, and god, I know you know this already and I’ve said it a thousand million times, but I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I thought I could get out of the final goodbye by disappearing before you woke up.” Pete smiled sadly. “I know that’s some massive assholery on my part, but. It’s always easier when you don’t have to do it in person. I was hoping that you wouldn’t find me.”

It wasn’t like they’d never see each other again, but summer on the road in sweaty tour buses and behind bass guitars onstage was never the same as hotel rooms in the big city and pretending to forget during a crippling northeastern autumn. Whatever the hell had happened on Warped Tour needed to stay on Warped Tour, for the sake of both of them and their respective bands, and they’d both known it from the very start that the summer wouldn’t last forever. They just hadn’t known that it would end like this. Sure, they’d still be friends until they weren’t anymore, but they’d never be like this ever again. And that was the part that hurt the most out of everything.

Mikey blinked away the reluctant tears building up behind his eyes, and fuck, thinking about it had just made it worse. He suddenly understood where Pete had been coming from right then. Looking down at his shoes, because he couldn’t bear the thought of Pete’s sad brown eyes and the way the corners of his mouth fell when he was worried, Mikey said, “I just didn’t want to leave without seeing you again.”

Pete made like he was going to lean in but was maybe overthinking it a little, and, to Mikey's vast dismay, he didn’t even get a chance to move very far before there were jogging footsteps approaching behind the latter.

“Pete, what the hell are you doing here? We’ve got to go,” said the presence behind Mikey - the mentioned couldn’t discern who the voice belonged to, but he couldn’t have been bothered to turn around and look for himself.

“I’ll be there in a second,” Pete replied, and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet like he always did when he was nervous. “Swear.”

“Now,” said the presence, and Mikey kind of wanted to punch its lights out. Hell, he wanted to punch all of Warped Tour for ending, and he wanted to punch Pete for leaving him, and he especially wanted to punch himself for getting into this fucking mess in the first place, and god, Gerard’s voice was in his head, reciting some part of a conversation about anger management with Frank or Ray or Bob or whoever the fuck that Mikey'd overheard, and he reckoned that the conversation must not have been very effective in the end, because now he wanted to sock Gerard. “Unless you want to walk back to Chicago.”

The presence walked away, and Pete hesitated for a moment before deciding to follow. Mikey was still staring at his shoes. He felt like the world was ending, and he hated himself for it.

“I’m sorry,” Pete mumbled as he passed by Mikey, lingering for just a moment, and he touched the latter’s arm so lightly that Mikey swore that he’d merely imagined his fingers there. “I’ll text you.”

And then Mikey was standing alone behind some band’s bus, and he’d expected to feel that crippling lonely sadness that comes with the end of all things, but he really couldn’t feel anything aside from the splitting headache he’d managed to score due to exhaustion and his hangover. His lungs kind of burned. He needed a cigarette to calm his nerves and maybe a few more conversations with some friends from tour to help him think about something, anything else.

“You’re a mess, Mikeyway,” he mumbled to himself as he fumbled for his lighter in his pockets, praying that he hadn’t left it on the Fall Out Boy bus by accident, and once he’d managed to locate it in the right pocket of his hoodie, he lit up a smoke; as he did so, the sleeve of his hoodie fell back ever so slightly, and Mikey was able to catch a glimpse of the writing on his arm. He made a mental note to scrub it out once he was back on the bus.

He felt his phone buzz in his jeans as he was making his way towards his band - he swore he could spot the back of Gerard’s head from miles away - and although he had a pretty good idea of who might’ve been texting him, he forced himself to ignore it. Besides, Ray was calling his name, and Mikey didn’t particularly feel like crying right then and there, and all reading it would do would be reminding him that he and Pete were better off as lovers, not the other way around.


End file.
